


idiopathic

by shuantics



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: (side jihan), Alternate Universe, Awkward Tension, Drinking, Humor, M/M, One Night Stands, Smut, Top!Seungcheol, bttm!jihoon, doctor!seungcheol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17566088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuantics/pseuds/shuantics
Summary: When Jihoon hooks up with a guy, he usually expects to never see them again. He does not,under any circumstance,expect to see his one night stand again. Especially in the reflection of the mirror plastered so conspicuously to the ceiling in the examination room in the doctor's office.





	idiopathic

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: the medical situations in this are in no way accurate, please don't take anything in this as fact !!
> 
> big thank you to my babies [shiningyjae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningyjae/pseuds/shiningyjae) and [OpalStarpoints](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalStarpoint) for being my beta readers!!! i love uuuuu

When Jihoon hooks up with a guy, he usually expects to never see them again. That’s how it’s meant to work, right? You meet at some dingy bar, flirt, have sex, and then leave, not making plans, nor really wanting to and then never meet again. When Jihoon hooks up with a guy —and believe him, the skirmishes are few and far between—he, like everyone else, expects to have wild, passionate, one-time-only sex; maybe to regret it in the morning while walking home with a crick in his neck and his stomach churning from the excessive consumption of alcohol, but to ultimately be done with it until his single-man sexual urges get the better of him once again.

The more he thinks about it, the more a one night stand is starting to sound like using his 2-for-1 coupon at the two-star pizza place just down the road

In all honesty, Jihoon doesn’t even get sexual urges all that often. Sure, he’s guilty every once in a while of seeing a  _ really _ hot guy sitting across the floor from him and just  _ really _ not being able to resist having all that fun sprawled out on his bed just for him (his right-hand  _ does  _ get tired sometimes as well). But he’s not like Jeonghan, say, who considered a week in college a failure if he didn’t bang by the end of it. (Although, he made Jihoon promise to never speak a word of his robust single days when he tied down Joshua—in more ways than one.) But who doesn’t every now and again? It’s just that, in this particular one case, during this particular one time, with that particular one guy… things ended differently.

When Jihoon hooks up with a guy, he usually expects to never see them again. He does not,  _ under any circumstance _ , expect to see his one night stand again. Especially in the reflection of the mirror plastered so conspicuously to the ceiling in the examination room in the doctor's office.

That’s just plain awkward.

And it was happening to Jihoon right in that moment.

 

It starts on a Saturday night.

Operation _Get Jihoon Laid_ was a go as Jeonghan obnoxiously announced it so to be. (Joshua insisted he hadn’t drunk a drop before leaving the house, but Jihoon guesses it was a lie by the fact that the trio had been at the club for a mere six minutes before they abandoned him to grind on each other on the dance floor.)

He didn’t complain, though. He’d rather enjoy a drink in his hand for the first half of the night than have Yoon Jeonghan drone in his ear about every hot guy that appears. He’d only ever been man hunting with his college roommate once: when they met Joshua, coincidently, and that night will serve as a memory to never be brought up by the pair again. (Somewhere between stealing a piñata, doing shots off a stripper’s back and being chased across the city by a cop on a skateboard—all incidents Jihoon’s sure weren’t connected—he vaguely remembers it being the best night of his life.)

But anyway, Jihoon looked like a loser. A sad, single, un-sober loser. How much vodka did they put in his drink? Despite his small frame, Jihoon was under the impression he could handle his liquor pretty well, provided he had a well rounded, five-food-group meal beforehand. Which, in this case, he hadn’t, so it was barely ten o’clock, on a Saturday night, in the middle of the city and he was sitting on his own, not-sure-but-definitely-is-drunk kind of drunk. And he was  _ loving _ it.

“Where are my friends?” he muttered to himself, momentarily unaware he wasn’t speaking to anyone else. The bartender gave him a look. Jihoon returned it with a smile brighter than he would’ve wanted to give any stranger before he stumbled off of his stool and braced himself on the bar to stare into the crowds in search of his companions.

He found them, of course, pressed against the wall at the back of the club—where the sweatiest of the goers and the ones shooting up ecstasy went—fervently making out, and after staring at their intertwined bodies for what felt like a good minute, he decided it was best to not disturb them now. He shrugged his way through the hyperactive crowd and finally settled himself on his stool once again. He reached for his drink, bringing the glass to his mouth but the liquid never touched his lips.

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”

There was a hand on his shoulder—he didn’t realise he was sweating until he felt his shirt paste against his skin. Suspiciously, Jihoon turned his head to the left and soaked in the man standing there, his grip on him soft and reassuring.

“I saw someone put something in it.”

It took Jihoon a moment before he registered what this man had said and he quickly dropped the drink back down to the counter.

“Who?”

The man, who towered a good few inches taller than Jihoon (even as he stood up too), pointed to a black figure who disappeared into the crowd. Maybe Jihoon was too drunk in the moment, but the incident barely sank into Jihoon until a long, long time after. (Specifically, it was the next morning, when Jihoon woke up and tried to recount the previous evening piece by piece, all while trying to collect his clothes from being scattered around this same man’s apartment, but that comes later.) Moreover, Jihoon found himself so innately concerned with the man standing before him then, and felt the breath leave his body while the blood rushed over places (if he’d actually listened to Jeonghan sometimes, he would’ve heeded the advice to not get drunk so quick, consider: “You turn into a right horn ball when your steaming, Hoon.”).

“Thank you,” he said breathlessly.

The man gave him a sickeningly sweet smile.

“It’s no problem. He looked pretty suss anyways. Creeped me out.”

Jihoon could do nothing but smile stupidly back.

“Seungcheol,” the man introduced. He stuck his hand out to Jihoon, who took it, hoping his hand wasn’t too clammy.

“Jihoon.”  _ God, just dick me down right now. _

Seungcheol’s face was round, soft, but his jawline sharp and with dimples that could easily fit Jihoon’s whole finger in. He looked gorgeous, with a dark brown tousle of hair, and a smile so gummy and bright Jihoon felt as though he was giving him a cavity. Looking at him was almost overwhelming, his heart was starting to hammer in his chest. He stumbled back, just far enough that Seungcheol’s arm could reach to catch him—or maybe that was the alcohol acting. Who knows. Jihoon doesn’t and at the time, frankly, he didn’t care. All he focused on was Seungcheol, and that he was so,  _ so  _ fucking hot.

Seungcheol led him back to the bar, hand on the small of Jihoon’s back. He asked the bartender for a glass of iced water.

“I’m fine,” Jihoon insisted with a wave of his hand. He staggered back into his seat. He wasn’t, but he had always been good at hiding that.

“Really?” Seungcheol took a sip of his own drink—whiskey, from what Jihoon could decipher. (That meant Seungcheol was either classy or a poser and for the sake of his sex drive, Jihoon hoped for the former.) “You seem pretty tipsy to me.”

Seungcheol was teasing him. Astounding. A total stranger bantering around like they were buddies. Jihoon would’ve hated that if he were sober. Since he was drunk, though, all it did was turn him on, really. Like when someone jokes about the thing you’re sensitive about but in reverse effect… Jihoon didn’t know where his line of reasoning was going, and he’d been staring at Seungcheol’s lips for a good few moments. (How plush and pink they were looking…)

“I’m fine,” he restated. “Look, I can recite the alphabet backwards: zed, why, ex, double you—”

Seungcheol’s laugh was a deep as the oceans and sent soaring shivers right down Jihoon’s spine. “That’s cute, can you do it in Latin?”

“Latin?!”

“Latin.”

“Why, can you?”

“Vaguely.”

“Weird flex, but okay.” Jihoon gulped his water. “What, go to Yale, or something?” 

“Harvard, actually.”

“Wow, you sound like a dick.” A hot one, though. Speaking of dicks… “Did you come here with anyone tonight?” 

“Just a friend.” Bingo.

“Sweet. Planning on leaving with anyone?”  _ Oh _ . Drunk Jihoon was apparently very forward.

Seungcheol smiles again, head dropping like he was bashful of it. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Can you walk straight?”

“Straight enough for you to fix that for my walk of shame tomorrow.”

Jihoon swore he could see a dust of blush ghost Seungcheol’s cheeks.

“You’re very sure, aren’t you?”

“Would you rather I wasn’t?”

There’s a pause. Jihoon hadn’t realised it, but he and Seungcheol had managed to lean close enough that he could smell the strong dousing of cologne the latter had dabbed on his neck that evening. It wrapped around Jihoon’s mind like a scarf, heating his brain up until the point he couldn’t handle it anymore. He was drunk and turned on, and doesn’t remember anything much more than Seungcheol saying, “No.” before his hand was snatched up in his.

 

Or, at least, that’s how Jihoon imagines the night to have gone. Better yet, how he  _ wishes  _ the night could’ve gone. Because, really, he was drunk—like, incredibly drunk, so much so that he doesn’t remember half the conversation he had with Seungcheol before ending up in his bed. He was drunk to the point that he was sure the room was spinning when Seungcheol pressed his frame his apartment wall, and when he was biting a weird mix of kisses and hickeys down his body. Hickeys, honestly. How personal. Jihoon wasn’t complaining though. In fact, he was moaning, trying to rearrange his thoughts enough to ensure he doesn’t prematurely cum and forever stand as that guy Seungcheol slept with who orgasmed from a bit of foreplay once.

He wasn’t sure how many times he’d moaned Seungcheol’s name at this point. So he does it again, just for good measure.

“Seungcheol…”

The man who was awkwardly trying to unbutton his jeans while still holding Jihoon up snorted out a laugh.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

Jihoon opened his eyes. “What?”

“Of my name.”

“Oh.” He was trying to be funny. He slipped his eyes closed again, groaning once more as he strained against his own tight pants. Honestly, who, while having sex, tries to be funny? He was taking too long. “You’re really slow with this, you know that?”

Somewhere between almost looking offended and managing to stumble his way to his bedroom, Seungcheol stuttered. “You want me to go faster?” and Jihoon had replied, “Obviously, you dummy.” and so Jihoon was unceremoniously discarded on a big, plush mattress and sheets.

Jihoon moaned when Seungcheol roughly pulled his jeans off him, tugging his briefs down with it. Without needing prompting, Seungcheol took Jihoon’s member in his palm and jerked it effortlessly, stopping to spit in his hand before carrying on with it. Jihoon moaned again, and again, and again and didn’t really stop until Seungcheol crushed his lips in a messy, somewhat dramatic kiss.

Normally, Jihoon would be kind of mad that someone has the audacity to cut him off like such, but honestly, Seungcheol was hot enough he was alright with him shoving his tongue down his throat. And his lips sort of tasted like lemon candy. 

“You’re really loud with this, you know?”

Jihoon paused to scoff. “Want me to be silent?

“No, I’d rather you remind me you’re still awake.”

“Weirdo.”

(Jihoon doesn’t usually resort to childlike insults, but in case you hadn’t realised, he was really, really drunk.)

Jihoon looks back on it now and can remember that he wondered why he was so quick to let Seungcheol get into his draws. Jihoon doesn’t think he was particularly  _ desperate,  _ but maybe he sober ego was again getting the better of him. And it’s not like Seungcheol was anything special: sure, he was tanned and has broad shoulder, with a toned torso and a set of arms with enough muscle he could easily share. And sure, he did that thing with his lips where, when they wrapped around Jihoon’s dick, they shimmered with spit and after long enough they were red and big and this is  _ right  _ out of a porn Jihoon’s seen, he’s sure. He was pretty and soft and his hair fit Jihoon’s hands in so easily, and he blew Jihoon he made gentle little moans that had him twitching his hips and rolling his head in the  _ very  _ soft pillows. And,  _ okay, fine,  _ his hands were big and his fingers were thick and when he flipped Jihoon on his knees his tongue did that  _ thing _ that had Jihoon almost ripping his bedsheets and whimpering for a release (and Jihoon  _ doesn’t  _ whimper) but it's not like he was anything  _ special _ . He was just a guy he was hooking up with, and just a guy that he was drunk enough in the moment to think  _ holy shit I’ve never met a man more perfect in my life. _

“Fucking— _ Christ. _ ” And his fingers were  _ quite  _ thick. Jihoon bit into the pillow. “Fuck, I’m not a porcelain doll.” He felt Seungcheol pause. “I like it.” He’s not sure what he was saying anymore.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Seungcheol said with a laugh.

“Don’t kink-shame me. I like it when it does.” One of the only truths he’s said the whole night.

Seungcheol sighed, a joking one, like they were close friends.  _ Ew. _ He continued to press his fingers deep into Jihoon, two and then three, until Jihoon’s hips were grinding down to meet them, working on a mind of their own. Seungcheol had him in a firm grip and settled him on his back on the comforter.

“You’re a pain,” he said gently, those same hands coming to open Jihoon’s thighs and place a pillow under his hips. 

“Eat my ass.”

“I already did.”

“Stop trying to make me laugh.” Jihoon threw his arm over his eyes and grinned. “We’re having sex, not starring in a sitcom.”

“Well, you’re the one talking so much.” If Jihoon wasn’t in as deep as he was, he would've left by now.

“Hurry up, will you?” Jihoon started to wiggle his hips impatiently. The more flaws he found in Seungcheol, the less he was going to enjoy this. “Places to go, people to see—” He cut himself off with a gasp. While revelling in all his grandeur, Jihoon had neglected to notice one tiny thing. Well, to call it  _ tiny  _  would be doing it sinful injustice. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, breathless and sinking his nails into Seungcheol’s back. “Fuck  _ me. _ ”

Seungcheol buried his face into JIhoon’s neck, nibbling another large, red hickey there as he eased his hips further into Jihoon, inch by inch. By no means was he the  _ biggest  _ guy Jihoon had seen, but he sure as fuck wasn’t the smallest. And Jihoon was in no place then to complain. (But, he didn’t warm the lube up beforehand. Asshole.) Seungcheol could hold Jihoon up with just his two arms, and did so, sitting on his knees and easily lifting Jihoon to wrap his legs around his waist. 

Jihoon’s frame sank down on his length.  _ Oh.  _ He may have misjudged that  _ not so tiny _ problem. He moaned again, this time quieter and with enough breath to make Seungcheol shiver.

“Fuck.” (It was the only word Jihoon could manage to think of.) “Fuck…” (Sober Jihoon is so much more articulate.)

“Fuck,” Seungcheol echoed. 

“Fuck,” Jihoon concluded.

So, no. Seungcheol, in hindsight, wasn’t  _ that _ special—he did a lot of things Jihoon didn’t like: not warming the lube up and making him ride him was just to name one or two. But other than that, it was an alright night. He made Jihoon cum, after all, so it couldn’t have been that bad. Sure, his head was spinning when he lazily had to drag his hips up and down because  _ someone  _ was local enough to not actually fuck him, but he digresses. He’d probably orgasmed harder than he had in a while, so Jihoon would score Seungcheol a solid seven out of ten on the one-night stand scale. (It’s not something he’d apply his hookups to usually, but Jeonghan had pestered him since the minute he walked through the door on Sunday morning, looking sick and slightly limping.) God, he wishes he could remember more of it. It probably would’ve made his Monday morning a lot easier. And  _ a lot _ less shameful. 

“Did you find out much about him?”

“No.” Jihoon took a long sip of black coffee. “We didn’t talk that much.”

“Arguably better.” Jeonghan fed Joshua a forkful of pancakes. That’s what Jihoon had walked into. His roommate and his boyfriend cooking together at nine o’clock on a Sunday. It was so cute it was almost disgusting. “How was it?”

“Alright.”

“Yeah, you limp leg screams, ‘alright.’” 

“Self-infliction.” Jihoon stole a slice of banana. “I did most the work.”

“Did you cum, though?” Jihoon swears he saw Joshua cringe. He was never one to be so open.

Jihoon remembered back to how he grasped the headboard and gasped as his skin slapped lewdly against Seungcheol’s. He remembered back to how Seungcheol’s face contorted in pleasure and how he could still feel the bruises from his fingertips imprinted into his hips. He almost has to drop his hands so his jacket hides his crotch.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“If only there was a Yelp but for hookups,” Jeonghan said. “Would be so helpful.”

Solid seven out of ten. Not the best but by far not the worst. Jihoon supposed it didn’t really matter from that point on. After all, as it was supposed to be, he was never going to see Seungcheol again.

 

Until he did.

“You’re not Dr Son.”

Jihoon stands in the doctor’s office now, frozen, mouth slightly open. In the chair sitting at the desk was Seungcheol, dressed in a white coat, glasses perched on his nose and those same pink lips looking good enough to kiss.

Seungcheol looks just as bewildered as him, but he cracks first. “Jihoon,” he says. “Uh, no. Dr Son had to leave town suddenly on personal business. I’m here to fill in.”

Jihoon stares and yes, it’s rather rude of him but unfortunate times call for unfortunate measures.

“I… understand if this is a little… strange,” Seungcheol says. God  _ fucking  _ dammit was his voice always that smooth? “But I’m just as qualified as Dr Son. I promise you’re in safe hands.” Seungcheol— _ Dr. Choi _ — smiles at him, shyly with the dimples sinking deep into his cheeks.

_ Your ‘safe hands’ have made my hips look like a toddler's been at them with blue and purple paint.  _ Jihoon holds his tongue and nods.

“So.” Seungcheol rolls out his desk chair, motioning to the seat for Jihoon to take. “What can I help you with.”

_ Jesus Christ, this can’t be happening.  _ Hesitantly, and still slightly aching, Jihoon takes a seat.

“Well, uh,” he starts. “I’m meant to be having a…” This is weird. This is by far the weirdest thing that's ever happened to Jihoon. More so than that time at summer camp when he got bitten by a snake and the really hot camp helper had to suck the venom out. From his  _ leg.  _ “I’m meant to be having a prostate exam.” Yep. Jihoon’s officially never been more embarrassed in his life.

Seungcheol looks at him for a moment, his cheeks washing with a soft hint of a blush. “Oh.” Is all he manages. He looks down at his clipboard and over and over again he clicks the pen. “Right. Well.” He clears his throat. You could cut the tension on the room with a knife. “I’m happy to proceed with it but only as long as you are.”

That wasn’t the response Jihoon was expecting. This has to be a breach of some sort of medical law. Article whatever section something: doctors can’t sleep with their patients? Especially after causing more damage to the examination-needing area the night before than any genetic history of disease could do. This is  _ weird _ and really, really wrong. Jihoon’s seen a side of this man no patient ever needs to see of their doctor. He’s seen  _ his dick,  _ for God’s sake. But still, for some reason unbeknownst to him, he swallows and nods

“I’m okay with it.”

Seungcheol nods too. “Alright, the nurse will grab you a gown and get you prepped.”

Jihoon knows there’s no better way to phrase it medically, but wishes Seungcheol hadn’t just said that. This isn’t going to work Jihoon can’t just have a stranger go poking around him like that! He’s built a relationship with Dr Son— a strict patient-doctor relationship, mostly full of Seungwan complaining about her wife not liking her egg rolls and Jihoon complaining about being perpetually single, but still! It’s better than having  _ Seungcheol.  _ Seungcheol who is a total stranger and has only ever felt around him in a way that has no correlation in any way to the examination room. (Well. Really, it depends on what you’re into, he guesses.)

Well. This is happening. Jihoon evaluates his place in the world as he’s lying on the examination table, staring up at the mirror showing a seamless image of what’s happening. His higher leg is pushed ever so slightly forward and there’s a  _ breeze _ sliding up his back from the slit in the gown. He tries not to tense, to relax just as Seungcheol’s telling him, but he finds it kind of hard when his gloved hand is ever so gently holding his ever so bruised hip. 

His digit slides in easier than he had hoped. (Not that he was  _ wanting  _ a painful procedure. He’s just somehow more embarrassed at how easy it’d been.)

“Are you, uhm, sexually active in his area.”

Jihoon can feel him poking around in there. Is he meant to be pressing that hard? He’s not trying anything, is he? Jihoon fists the front of his gown and looks over his shoulder with a deadpan glare.

“Sorry,” Seungcheol says. “Stupid question.” He stammers again when Jihoon furrows his brow. “Anyway.” He pulls his finger out with ease and Jihoon doesn’t wait to be cleared. “You’re all good there. A slight bit of swelling but that’s quite normal after… uh…”  _ Fucking myself with your dick?  _ “Fornication.” What a professional thing to say.

Jihoon dresses quicker than any other time in his life. “Thank you,” he says, his cheeks hot and red. He looks at Seungcheol, who looks just as bashful as he. It’s awkward now. Fuck, why does it always end up being awkward? This is why you never see a one night stand again, and why you  _ definitely  _ don’t let them go poking around in you medically! Honestly, what was Jihoon expecting?  _ Of course,  _ it was going to be weird to have your hook-up do your prostate exam. He’s going to have some very strong words with Dr Son when she comes back from ‘personal business.’

“It’s no problem.” Seungcheol discards the gloves into the medical bin and respectfully turns to type something at the computer while Jihoon fixes up his jeans.

“Can I, uh...go?”

He turns back. Does his mean to look like a deer in headlights or is that just his natural look?

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re all good. If you feel or experience anything out of the ordinary just ring back up. Dr Son will be back on Friday.” 

Jihoon takes the small card Seungcheol hands him and fiddles with it for a moment. He should say something. Why should he say something, why can’t Seungcheol say something? Why is there a need for anything to be said? Jihoon leaves, his cheeks still warm and his heart in his throat. Is it acceptable to get drunk on a Monday night? It’s not, but Jihoon wants nothing more than to just gulp down a couple of shots and forget that the weirdest and most awkward thing ever just happened to him. It’d be better if he just died really. He could step out into the street and just get hit by a bus and then his pain would no longer have to be dealt with. He pulls out his phone and begins to text Jeonghan.

_ You’re not gonna believe who just had their finger in my ass _ —

“Jihoon!”

Jihoon stops just before he leaves the doctor’s car park. He looks up towards the voice and feels his pulse start to quicken. “S—Dr. Choi?” he stammers. “Is everything alright?”

Seungcheol, in his dress shirt and his black pants and his long white coat flapping in the wind, jogs up to Jihoon and opens his mouth. He hesitates. Jihoon stands perfectly still.

“I’m sorry if you feel this is unprofessional, but…” he scratches the back of his neck. “I just wanted to ask if you’d like to grab a coffee sometime.” Is this really happening? “I mean, it could be weird, considering our—” he waves a hand over Jihoon, seemingly phased by Jihoon’s quirked brow. “—past endeavours—” Jihoon grins. “—but I, uh… I’d like to get to know you.”

Jihoon takes a moment to breathe. The air of the city is by no means clean, but it’s better than being suffocated by his anxieties.

“I’d love to,” he replies.

“Really?”

Jihoon swipes a pen from Seungcheol’s coat pocket, quickly scribbling his cell number on the back of the latter’s palm.

“Just. Just text me whenever.” His cheeks hurt from fighting his grin. 

“Yeah.” Seungcheol flashes him his deep dimples. Jihoon’s knees almost go weak. “Yeah, I’ll, uhm… talk to you later.”

When Jihoon hooks up with a guy, he usually expects to never see them again. Except when he really, really wants to.

_ Jeonghan: oh, come on ji don’t leave me hanging! tell me who had their finger in your ass! _

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends i have returned to not update any other projects but to give you (more) jicheol smut because who doesn't want that?
> 
> i tried a new approach to the smut this time, kind of having it in an expositional format? idk, it was fun to do so let me know if it works you lot! 
> 
> ty for reading, leave a comment with your thoughts ily !!!


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